


Full Circle

by Kaerra, roxyryoko



Series: Drabbles in the Dark [23]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff, Garland Moon, Minor Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, mentioned additional characters, mentioned canon deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25161694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerra/pseuds/Kaerra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyryoko/pseuds/roxyryoko
Summary: For Ingrid, Garland Moon has always held its own expectations and anxieties. For years she played her part as fiancée and friend to weave and gift those ivory crowns, never fully embracing the meaning of the custom. But in the midst of war, she gains the freedom to decide who holds her heart. And Sylvain has always been there.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Drabbles in the Dark [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590193
Comments: 24
Kudos: 72
Collections: Those Who Drabble in the Dark





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble prompt "Garland Moon." This week I was fortunate to collaborate with Kaerra, who helped me so much with brainstorming and editing all the scenes in addition to giving me great advice on children's voices. The first three scenes are all me, but she really came in and punched up my bare-bones final scene, and therefore definitely earned co-writing credit! ^_^ Thank you so much, Kaerra! I enjoy working with you so much!

When Ingrid was ten years old, her parents exchanged Mother’s favorite brush for two dozen white roses with a merchant on the edge of Galatea territory. Ingrid had only seen blooms like those in the gardens of Fraldarius or Fhirdiad before, never in her homeland, but surely such a splendid brush was more valuable than a few pretty flowers. After all, Mother had treasured its fine craftsmanship, had marveled at the ornate floral pattern that adorned the back and the fine horse-hair bristles that passed effortlessly through Ingrid’s hair after a long day of riding. 

Ingrid faintly recalled that it had been a gift from Father. 

Still, the deal had been struck. 

Despite her protests, Father instructed Ingrid to dismount her horse and join Mother and her governess in the carriage for the remainder of the journey to Fraldarius. Once inside, the two women taught her to weave stalk between stalk, forming a crown, and chant a prayer so that the Goddess would bless Ingrid’s future union with her betrothed.

The rain had only just cleared when they arrived at Fraldarius castle and a stifling humidity hung in the air, making the all ready stuffy parlor unbearable. The two clans gathered, encircling Ingrid and Glenn as if awaiting a street performance. 

Father nudged Ingrid forward, prompting her to present Glenn with the white rose crown. As his fingers wrapped slowly around the garland, his cheeks burst into a violent shade of crimson and his eyes fell anywhere but on Ingrid. She didn’t understand his reaction any more than she understood the odd glances exchanged between Father and Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, but Ingrid wished Glenn would just put the silly thing on his head all ready so they could go outside and play knights and villains.

Finally, he placed it atop ebony hair and they were released.

Of course, Sylvain stirred up trouble as soon as their wooden swords clashed together.

While Glenn skillfully defended against a double attack from Ingrid and Felix, Sylvain nabbed the rose crown off his head. Instantly, Glenn jerked around, failing to parry a second strike from Felix’s relentless onslaught. 

Cocking a grin, Sylvain crowned himself with it. “Man, this helm isn’t going to protect much in a fight, Ingrid,” he said sardonically. “You want Glenn to lose his head out there?”

Glenn’s face flushed even deeper red than earlier in the day. He bolted to retrieve the garland, but Sylvain leapt out of way, laughing hysterically.

“Of course it’s not good in a fight,” Felix stated, sword posed to strike, waiting for the other boys to circle close.

Annoyed, Ingrid stepped forward to block Sylvain’s path and swung at him with all her strength, wooden sword slamming into his stomach. He yelped, more surprised than pained, and fell backwards onto his rear. 

“Sylvain’s just being a dummy,” she huffed.

Glenn snatched the garland off Sylvain’s head and briefly inspected it. “I’m warning you, boys,” he said with a glare to Sylvain. “Hurt one flower, I’ll show you a real fight.”

Felix swung his sword around at an invisible opponent, asking, “Why wear roses on your head? Just looks funny.”

Sylvain snickered, “It’s worthwhile when a  _ pretty  _ girl gives them to me. The girls have practically been laying them at my feet all moon.” He shot a pitiful expression to Glenn. “Sorry you’re not so lucky, buddy.”

Ingrid growled in anger and smacked him across the back of the head in retaliation. “I don’t need to be pretty to be a great knight like Kyphon! You’re the one who’s going to need a better helm! I’m not going to always watch your back when your eyes are on a girl instead of your opponent!”

* * *

When Ingrid was thirteen years old, she picked the white roses from the garden in Fraldarius castle, carefully removed the thorns, and weaved them into a garland crown. After three years of practice, this one was much sturdier than her previous attempts. Sturdy enough to remain intertwined for a few days despite the rain that buffeted the territory. Sturdy enough to rot as one unit and join Glenn within the soil. Sturdy  _ enough _ but not infallible, for she had learned that nothing lived up to such an ideal.

As soon as Ingrid placed it atop Glenn’s tombstone, she bolted from the mausoleum before the tears stinging her eyes could fall. 

Knights shouldn’t cry, she told herself, but such reprimands didn’t persuade the droplets to stop running down her cheeks. 

Ingrid found a secluded place on the grounds, a place so hidden she recalled Glenn taking over an hour to find her when they played hide-and-seek with Felix years before. Verdant and full at this time of year, the trees and bushes provided cover for Ingrid to sink down to the grass and wind her arms tight around her knees.

Of course, Sylvain managed to ruin her respite, entering her hiding spot way too quickly. Apparently, it was both the perfect place to cry without witnesses as well as to avoid enraged fathers in hot pursuit after kissing their daughters.

Sylvain made himself comfortable next to her, but didn’t dare to immediately disturb the quiet. The grass underneath them was damp and he picked at the wildflowers near his feet. Ingrid avoided acknowledging his presence, head burrowed in tear-soaked sleeves. 

Eventually, Sylvain nudged her with his elbow. “Hey,” he said, “let’s grab our horses and race! My new horse is really something. Breathtaking too! You’ll love her, guarantee it.”

Ingrid didn’t answer. The silence permeated the air once again, thick and suffocating.

He tried again, “Or we can raid the kitchen. I’m sure I can sweet talk the cook into making whatever we want. She has a thing for me, you know. Can’t blame her.”

The only sound was the wind whistling through the leaves.

“Don’t want to talk, got it. Well, then, let’s check out the library. Bet there’s some books you don’t have back home here.”

Still, Ingrid didn’t answer. The time passed in agonizing heart beats, and Ingrid hated that he could hear her every sniffle and choke.

Eventually Sylvain grew bored. 

He rose, stretching out his arms. “Well, I got stuff to do, girls to meet and hearts to steal. Marcia said she has a big surprise for me. Can’t wait to see her cute face when she gives me one of those garlands.”

* * *

When Ingrid was seventeen years old, she joined Annette and Mercedes in the greenhouse to weave garlands as testaments to their friendship. Fresh cut roses surrounded them in piles and each girl had a stack of finished crowns nearby. A basket of cookies baked by Mercedes sat on the bench between them and Ingrid happily indulged. 

For the first time in years, the holiday felt free of burden and sorrow. The gleeful chatter that rang in the air and the sweets that delighted Ingrid’s tongue greatly soothed. Even if the tradition was frivolous and encouraged irritating discussion of courtship, it felt safe and right to partake this way.

Annette hummed as she knotted the stalks together, an angelic voice over Ingrid’s munching, while Mercedes prepped the next batch of roses, carefully removing the thorns.

Mischief in her eye, Mercedes glanced down at Annette’s pile of rose crowns. 

“Now Annie, I may not be the best at arithmetic, but I am certain you have an extra,” she mused. “Whoever is that one for?”

Annette’s face turned a bright pink and her mouth fell open in morbid horror. Ingrid could almost laugh, but Annette quickly shook off her embarrassment, returning to task with an air of forced defiance. 

“This one’s for Lysithea,” she replied confidentially.

“Ah, pardon me, I mistakenly thought  _ that _ one for Lysithea.” Grinning with mirth, Mercedes pointed to one of the crowns in Annette’s pile.

Annette blanched and stammered for an explanation. “Uh, no! That one’s for, um, Hilda!”

Mercedes leaned back, brow wrinkled thoughtfully, and started counting with her fingers. “Let’s see, you have one for me, Ingrid, Hilda, Lysithea, the Professor, and…ah, it’s still not adding up for me. Oh, dear, perhaps I’m worse at numbers than I thought.” She pouted at a squirming Annette.

“It’s for...Professor Manuela!”

“Oh, I see! And here I thought you had your eye on a boy! My mistake. I can be so silly at times.”

Annette visibly relaxed for a moment.

Then Mercedes smiled sweetly. “But Annie, dear, there’s no reason to be embarrassed if it is for Felix.”

Immediately, Annette recoiled, mortified.

“Felix?” Ingrid repeated, dumbfounded.

“It’s not for him!” Annette almost shrieked. “I mean, it could be—I just—Mercie, you’re being cruel!”

Mercedes raised a hand to cover her indelicate giggle, while Annette’s cheeks flared apple red.

With an annoyed “humph,” Annette leaned over and looked at Mercedes’s garlands, counting them with her index finger. “Are  _ you _ making one for someone special?”

Mercedes smiled demurely. “I’m not, but I’d certainly tell you if I was.” She then turned to Ingrid, excited. “What about you, Ingrid? Has anyone caught your eye?”

Taken back by the sudden question, it took Ingrid a moment to collect herself before she shook her head. “No. I hardly see the point in pursuing romance. When school is over my duty will come first to my family and I will have to consider marriage, but for now, I’d rather spend my time training to become a knight. Even if it is only a fleeting dream.”

Both of her companions offered empathetic looks. Mercedes had just parted her lips to speak when Sylvain made his grand entrance, cutting off all confidences.

“Ladies,” he greeted, strutting in front of them with a multitude of rose garlands slung over his head, neck, and hands— a completely ridiculous sight as far as Ingrid was concerned. “Are any of those for me, by chance?”

Ingrid pinched her nose, aggravated. “Seriously, Sylvain? Did you really come over here just to ask that? Those poor girls! By the looks of it, you have more hearts to break than the number of cookies Mercedes baked.”

Sylvain recoiled, feigning sensitivity. “Woah there! Who said anything about breaking hearts? There’s more than enough of Sylvain to go around.”

“Do you even reciprocate feelings for  _ any _ of those girls?” Before Sylvain could respond, Ingrid cut him off with a shake of her head.” No, don’t answer that. I already know you don’t. And who’s going to get stuck apologizing to every single one of them? Me, of course! Seriously, Sylvain if you can’t have sympathy for them, at least have some for me!”

Sylvain cocked his head, amused. Sardonically he replied, “You know I  _ do _ sympathize with you Ingrid, so I have a deal for you. This moon you don’t need to bother cleaning up my messes. Just turn a blind eye. How’s that sound? It’ll be a brief dissolution of our partnership. In exchange, you can’t reprimand me.”

Ingrid scoffed, “Oh, like it’s so easy! Your mischief always catches up to me somehow.” 

She offered him one final glare before busying herself with tying the next pair of roses together. “Well, if I’m to ‘turn a blind eye’ to you, I suppose I have one less crown to worry about making now!”

Sylvain’s eyes widened and he simpered. “Wow, Ingrid. You were making one for yours truly? I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” 

Inexplicably, anger swelled in her chest. His jests were nothing new, but for some reason this time they sparked a fury. “You’re mistaken if you think you’re special. I’m making them for His Highness and Felix as well.” 

“Ah,” he slowly drawled, an odd infliction in his lilt. “I see. The good old friendship garlands.” 

“Yes, indeed, but unfortunately for you, our friendship is ‘dissolved’ this moon.” 

Sylvain pouted, but Ingrid didn’t trust it. “Come on, don’t be that way, Ingrid.” 

“Here’s a deal: I’ll change when you do.”

Sylvain shrugged, stubbornly unwavering despite her hopes. 

Of course, he didn’t change. In fact, he strolled right over to Mercedes and prodded if she’d made him a crown, cooing that he’d expect a sweet girl like her to make them for everyone. 

Mercedes entertained him briefly and when he finally, finally left, she turned to Ingrid, saying, “You know Ingrid, I think you hurt his feelings a little bit.”

Ingrid’s hand stopped moving and she nearly choked on the cookie crammed in her mouth. She gaped at her, on the verge of laughing. “Please, Mercedes, this is Sylvain. He’s just putting on an act.”

Mercedes frowned. “I’m not so sure about that.” 

Annette nodded her head in agreement, avoiding Ingrid’s eyes.

Ingrid dismissed the notion, but guilt wracked her dreams that night. She ended up making him one anyway, but deliberately postponed giving it to him till after Garland Moon had officially ended.

Hopefully, he’d learn a lesson, but she doubted it.

* * *

When Ingrid was twenty-three years old, she took her pegasus from the stables and ventured to the mountains where wild white roses were rumored to grow. Despite the best efforts of Ashe and Dedue no roses had bloomed in the greenhouse this Garland Moon, but merchants brought plentiful tales along with their own overpriced pickings.

Sure enough, the stories were true. 

As Ingrid plucked each flower, she couldn’t help but feel like a hero from a book of knights and chivalry. The possibility of danger lurked, but there she was on an adventurous escapade to earn the favor of someone who consumed all her thoughts.

And, for the first time in her life, Sylvain consumed her thoughts in a chronically positive light. She’d always seen beyond the superficial qualities Sylvain let people think defined him, but now they struck her in a uniquely foreign way: he was a man who did get hurt, a man who fought for others' sake, to preserve a kingdom that hadn't always been kind to him. She'd gone from seeing him as someone she always had to rein in, to someone she could depend on. Someone who could make her laugh, but made her stomach fizz whenever he smiled at her. 

It was almost comical, if not ironic.

However, it was not comical waiting for him to finish his watch shift, rose garland tucked behind her back. She couldn’t help but feel like a stranger in her own skin. Normally she gravitated to a more natural look for her makeup, but tonight she had dared to be alluring. 

Up on the parapet, she could spy him every few minutes as he paced back and forth.

At least he was taking his duties seriously this time.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Syvlain emerged from the stairwell. His eyes widened, and roamed over her face for a long moment, their expression warm but unreadable. Ingrid hoped the pink on her cheeks would be mistaken for makeup; Annette had joked that even the strongest foundation couldn’t hide a deep blush.

“Ingrid,” he said, his surprise palpable. “You look nice—um, I mean… I didn’t realize you had the next shift.”

“I don’t,” Ingrid said, shuffling her feet nervously. “I was actually waiting for you.”

“You... are? Wait!” He raised his hands defensively. “I swear I haven’t been messing around with anyone.”

Ingrid smiled, but it felt strained. “Shockingly enough, I know you haven’t. That’s not why I’m here.”

Sylvain raised a brow and Ingrid bit her lip. Why was rushing headfirst into an enemy battalion easier than this? All she was going to do was potentially blow up years of comfortable friendship with one gesture—not a life or death situation. Her heart seemed to think otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, she summoned her courage, and presented the garland crown.

“I wanted to give you this.”

Sylvain covered his confusion with a playfully relieved sigh. “Phew, for a second I thought you had a weapon behind your back.”

He cocked a grin when Ingrid shook her head. “I was wondering when you’d give me this. Haven’t seen His Highness parading around with one this moon. How'd I miss that?”

“You haven’t missed anything,” Ingrid said, unable to hold his gaze. 

Goddess save her, he thought the whole thing was a joke? Well, she’d committed to this folly; might as well see it through.

“I didn’t make one for him this year. Or Felix.”

“Did they fall from your good graces? Oh wait, let me guess, Felix has one from Annette. Did he turn crimson? Tell me he did.”

“Would you please just… listen?” Ingrid asked, gathering her courage and looking him in the eye.

“Oh, you’re being serious. Okay, then,” he said, fiddling with his armor, then dropping his arms at his side. “I’m all ears.”

“You see, Sylvain, this isn’t a friendship garland,” Ingrid said slowly, the words falling from her lips like they held physical weight. “I, uh, hope you’ll accept my feelings. Because they’ve changed, and I...”

Sylvain stared at the garland a long time, a blush creeping onto his face. “Oh.”

Ingrid desperately wondered if the ground could swallow her whole.

He put his arms behind his head and laughed, a single short bark. “I can’t believe it’s  _ you _ confessing. I mean, other girls have given me a garland and said pretty words they didn’t mean, but you… I’ve never actually felt nervous like I do now.”

Ingrid’s heart felt like it had shattered in her chest, but she tried to put on a brave face. “I see. If you’re just going to say no, please just be honest.”

Sylvain gaped at her, and it was more humiliation than Ingrid could face. Her body seemed to move of its own volition, turning to walk blindly away. He grabbed her arm, holding her in place, gently setting his other hand to her jaw, coaxing her to look at him.

“That’s not what I meant! I can’t think straight, you’ve got me so nervous that I’ll mess this up.” She stared, and he swallowed. “Ingrid, I accept your garland with happiness. I never thought you’d ever see me as more than a friend, but I’ve wanted to say the same thing to you for years.”

“You have?” she asked, her mouth slack. 

Her heart was beating a war anthem in her chest, and the fizzing feeling she usually felt in her stomach had migrated to her entire body.

“Yes,” he said, his dark eyes molten in a way she’d never seen before, like liquid chocolate. She could drown in that gaze way too easily.

Gingerly, he took the garland out of her hands and placed it on his head. When he straightened, his cheeks were nearly the same color as his hair, and he looked boyishly vulnerable. Gone was the parading, laughing Sylvain of five years before, leaving a very nervous, handsome man that she loved fiercely.

“Let’s head out to town,” he said suddenly. “I need to show off these gorgeous flowers.” 

He slinked his arm through hers and tugged her close. “Especially the flower on my arm.”

Ingrid flushed and rolled her eyes. “Can’t you be sincere for  _ once.” _

Sylvain chuckled and pressed his lips to the top of her forehead, murmuring, “But I am, Ingrid. I really am.”

Her breath caught. The feel of his lips, the wash of his breath over her forehead, the timbre of his voice all sent shivers down her spine. Battle never wracked her nerves like this. She tilted her head up and caught his gaze. Sylvain was never one to be unsure of his actions, especially amorous ones, but right then and there she could see the doubt—no, the fear in his eyes.

And if Ingrid was to ever be a truly gallant knight, soothing the fears of others was her righteous cause.

Ingrid arched up on her toes and wrapped her free hand around the nape of his neck, pulling him down. His eyes widened as she pressed her lips against his in a chaste kiss that melted into something deeper. Ingrid’s eyelids fluttered closed when Sylvain cradled her head in his hands as though she were made of porcelain, and his lips against hers shifted from tentative to reverent.

When she pulled back, she was smiling.

“Can we get dinner?”

Sylvain’s voice lowered to a seductive growl, “I think I’m more interested in dessert first.” 

He kissed her again, just as chaste, but she parted her lips encouragingly. This time it was like being swept away in the sky, whenever she and her pegasus took off into the air and the world shrank beneath them. Ingrid followed Sylvain’s lead, letting him take her higher so her heart beat in her ears and her pulse raced. 

Just when she thought the moment couldn’t be more perfect, her traitorous stomach dared to rumble.

Sylvain threw back his head, hooting, loud and unbridled. The heat on Ingrid’s face became unbearable, but then he drew his arm across her shoulder.

“It seems you’ve decided for us. Time to stalk out a good place to grab some grub. Lady’s choice.”

Ingrid relaxed under the warmth of his touch. She nestled into his side and managed to laugh, “You kept me waiting a long time, you know.”

“Right back at you,” he said, giving her a significant look. “Years, remember?”

“Maybe I needed some convincing after how you were at the Academy,” Ingrid said, giving him the flinty eyed look she’d always reserved for his excessive flirting.

Sylvain grinned at her, and adjusted the garland on his head, rotating it to the right. “Well, the wheel has come full circle, and we’re here now, together. As we should be.”

“As we’ve always been,” Ingrid agreed, leaning against him. “You’re right.” 

She tugged him forward. “Okay, let’s go eat before I starve to death.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow us on our twitters at [Kaerra](https://twitter.com/Kaerra3) and [Roxyryoko](https://twitter.com/roxyryoko)!


End file.
